Red Thread
by Dissonencia
Summary: Feud happens. War happens. Death happens. All of these are intertwined with Ichigo and Rukia's seemingly tragic demise.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Warning: __**Non-linear story telling.**_

_Chapter Word Count: _408

_General Summary: _Feud happens. War happens. Death happens. All of these intertwined with Ichigo and Rukia's seemingly tragic demise.

**Red Thread**

…**o0o…o0o…o0o…**

Feud happens. War happens. Death happens.

It's normal. Perfectly normal.

After all, all people will go through the _same_ laborious –_sometimes quick_- process. No escape _or_ the ultimate escape. Round cage with no exits or entrance.

Country fallen. No politics. Normal. _Sometimes…_

…**0…**

_People_.

People on normal occasion would panic at the sight of blades held threateningly against their throats.

Or so he thought…

But it is normal. Present time, no trend is better than taking lives.

_His hand twitched. He can't stand it._

Warlord. Blades. Threat. Danger. Common words for a fighter.

A fighter.

Kurosaki Ichigo is one.

And a killer.

_Not this time. Maybe._

What the hell is wrong with him? Just what is one in addition to hundreds?

If he move his hands just an inch, Hell will have an addition tonight. With a tag, '_sent by Kurosaki_'.

_Is it right?_

His hands twitched even more. He really can't stand it.

…**0…**

"_I am assigned as your guard…"_

Rukia's face held no emotion.

"…_until your execution day."_

_Execution_? Planned execution date? She honestly thought that they will kill her on the first chance they get. They did try…

She replied with no words but with a defiant and cold glint in her eyes.

Before sliding the door close, he angled his head towards her and stared deep in her eyes.

"I have the _only_ key to your cell." He added, his voice hard and unyielding like the ruthless soldier he will _always_ be.

The fusuma door closed and once again, Rukia is left with her longtime friend, _solitude_.

In a world where the classic definition of war and feud is the same as normalcy and safe living, Rukia lives.

Safe. Unlike the poor and defenseless fellows outside their walls. Living in luxury. Unlike the people in deep squalor outside. Comfortable and abundant. Unlike the unwilling bandits forced to rob villages for survival. Protected. Unlike the children and people that died out in the forest or village massacres. Unwelcomed. Unlike the other nobles that lived this life since childhood. Treated with indifference. Unlike the true royalties that held glamour like second skin. Hated. Unlike the kind and polite nobles that used to walk this marble ground.

She does not fit in both worlds.

Rukia remained in the same color for years. Bland, in deep contrast to the abrasively artistic.

Defining her situation, to a philosopher, is like limiting it.

It was so much more than that.

…**o0O0o…**

_To be continued_

**Author's Note**

I really miss being a student, I swear to Poseidon's Trident.

Life is good when you're a student, I just realized that now. Now that I'm already working.

So high school/college students! *grabs you* Cherish it! *shakes you even more* Cherish it! Cherish it! –unless you're in an Engineering School.

Lol jk. : )

Story, plot and detail holes are purposely not added to follow a pattern. Written short, not the usual Dissonencia. But (Hopefully) frequent updates to fill gaps, _again_, not the usual Dissonencia.

Bye!

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_**Preview **_

…**o0o…**

_Ichigo slammed the door opened._

_He stomped and went straight to her quarters._

_He found her on her usual seat facing the single small window. "Lady!"_

_Like the man he was known for, he asked her straight and to the point._

"_Why are you so damn withdrawn and closed?"_

…

…

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**Love me or Hate me?**

**Dissonencia.**


	2. Chapter 2

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Warning: __**Non-linear storytelling and um...character dislike? **_

_Chapter Word Count: _1,651

_General Summary: _Feud happens. War happens. Death happens. All of these intertwined with Ichigo and Rukia's seemingly tragic demise.

**Red Thread**

**…o0o…o0o…o0o…**

It was..._refreshing_.

And so solemn at the same time. And brimming with positivity.

Hope. A belief that something good will happen.

Not necessarily in a physical or environmental sense. Hope _as in_ hoping.

The _feel_ of optimism.

But then… can it be considered twisted? Is _that_ twisted?

…**0**…

A beautiful woman looking back at her own reflection from the untarnished glass of the mirror.

_That_ face was the very definition and clear reflection of what physical beauty means. Envy of fellow, countless courtesans. Such a beautiful woman…

…_yet rejected_.

Inoue Orihime looked back at the opened fusuma door, her eyes hopeful that he'll look her way. A bashful and pretty curve of her pink lips, maybe he'll decide to have a taste of it. Her _kimono_, parted and dangerously thin, almost see-through, accentuating all her curves, perhaps he'll decide to sleep with her. Her long hair down and wavy, hoping that he'll smell the inviting and sweet aroma of it.

Hope. There is _hope_.

She has it. She _still_ has it. For nine months, it functioned like her lifeline. Quietly hoping. Quietly waiting. _Quietly_…just quietly.

Her smile ready for him. Everything about her ready for him. When he finally realizes what she meant for him, she'll embrace him and forget that he never paid her attention during the months that she lived in his house.

With the current arrangements, it's like she's the lady of his house and he is her husband. She liked the idea. After all, they were so much like that. But then, she heard the maids '_poor girl, quietly living her fantasies in her own world_.'

What are they talking about?

They don't understand. It is not delusional. It is not disjointed. _He_ just _needed_ to _realize_ it.

Otherwise, he wouldn't be living with her for nine months. There is something there. There's some meaning to it. And she's willing to wait for him to realize it.

Orihime put the intricate ivory comb down, and moved closer to the open doors. Carefully maintaining her appearance. Maybe tonight…_maybe he will_.

Amidst the grassy garden, in the middle of the night where the moon is full and watching over them, he was there. Standing in his naked glory waist up, holding a sword and sweaty profusely.

Such a terrific man!

He cares so much.

The admiration was palpable. She felt the familiar rush and tingle of her spine. The sweet taste of first love on her mouth. The tug of something on her chest. The swell of excitement.

"_Kurosaki-kun…_" Lovable. Her words, her voice, lovingly called out to him. _Quietly_.

He didn't answer. He was so focused on his sword movements. He's a glorious sight.

But then, one detail made the smile on Orihime's face falter.

There's a trace of anger in his face.

She didn't know why.

Her grip on the wood tightened. What's wrong with him?

Some say that her love was petty, a simple admiration, veiled stupidity and utter hopeless.

Wrong. It wasn't. He's the _perfect_ man that could _rescue_ her. And he did! He saved her from the clutches of the okiya where she used to work as a courtesan. She's living in the same house with him for nine months. Peaceful. Like what she always wanted. Maybe with children and she'll be complete.

Her love wasn't delusional. It wasn't delusion. Her love is pure, untainted and patient. She'll wait for him to realize it. How could he not? He lived with her for nine months; other men aren't oblivious to her. Maybe, he had fallen for her already and he hasn't realized it yet. How could he be _this kind_ if he isn't in love with her? He saved her. He offered her home. He sheltered her. He treated her gentler than any other. He was so kind to her. He's strong. He's undefeated. He protected her. How could he not be in love with her? He saved her. No one would. She was waiting for someone to do it, he did it. For her. He's her hero, her savior. And for that, she's willing wait for him to realize that he's in love with her, no matter how long.

It wasn't delusion. It wasn't a twisted image. It wasn't. It wasn't. Just more time.

It will come.

"Kurosaki-kun…" she called out again, softer, lovingly and gently this time. Praying that he'll answer her silent longing.

He didn't look her way.

Orihime smiled nonetheless.

Hope. There is _hope_.

…**0**…

In their present civilization, Inoue Orihime was born on a lower class family, the lowest –actually, _not_ lowest, a family so poor that they don't even exist in the caste system. But what she lacked in fortune make up her physical attributes.

In the coming years, after another pointless feud, an old woman who was passing by her destroyed home saw her: thought that a nice, orphaned little girl like her will make a good whore. The old lady brought her and sold her to an okiya.

Years later and she made a name for herself.

She _is_ a prized courtesan meant to be a gift to the _man_ that successfully tumbled the last clan standing for peace and captured its notable clan princess.

This happened nine months ago.

During the same time, she was presented like a doll to him.

At first glance, he scowled then he refused. He refused the emperor's offering.

He refused her.

Orihime never felt dejected. Never been so crestfallen.

When she first heard that she'll be a gift for someone, she thought it was just as bad as working in the okiya. Another _honorable_ man toying with her. A gift? She'll be a gift? Perhaps it'll be permanent. A chance to leave this place and transfer to something similar, she only felt sadder.

But when the lady from the Okiya said that it wasn't an old man or any man similar, she had hope.

She arrived at the castle and found that it's Kurosaki Ichigo.

She had no information on him other than he wasn't like any other. Young and attractive. Strong and undefeated. Her hope swelled. He could save her.

Then he downright refused her as a gift.

It was so hurtful to a woman. To her? To her, who immediately thought he could save her. Why?

The it struck her: he refused, she's going back to the Okiya.

Oh no! She's going back! She never wanted to go back. No!

A feeling of panic. No. the owner of the Okiya will hit her for being undesirable. She failed to please the man that could be her raft. The owner will punish her, again, for the nth time.

Feeling apprehensive than ever, she tried to plead with him with her eyes. She never wanted to go back. But he wasn't looking at her. Merciless, so it would seem. She wanted to stop and escape but too scared she'll be found. She had to resign to her fate.

On her way back to the Okiya, her average palanquin stopped and bandits surrounded her.

Then as fast a heartbeat, Kurosaki Ichigo saved her.

Orihime looked at him and he looked at her. Her eyes widened, it's true; he wasn't the merciless man she thought he was. He followed her here. He saved her.

Then he asked, _"You wanted to escape, didn't you?"_

She nodded.

"_Do you have any place to stay?"_

She shook her head.

"_Then act as if nothing happened and you continue with what you were ordered."_

"But-" her eyes widened. Is he going to help her?

"_What will happen to you if they found out you failed the brothel?"_

"P-p-punish me, mos-t likely." That was the truthful answer.

He let her stay with him in his manor. That was the original plan when his emperor bought her as a present to him.

So she did. Feeling awkward, shy and happy at the same time.

Why he helped her? She had no idea.

But he never touched her. Never been intimate to her.

…**0**…

Nine months since the siege stopped.

She's glad it stopped. No more injuries for him. _She won't be sad anymore_. She won't cry anymore.

Like a dutiful wife to her husband, she waited for him to come down from the Pagoda tower, where the supposed, _captured_ clan princess resides.

Orihime had no idea about her or about this war at all. All she knew is that Kurosaki-kun was the clan princess's assigned guard until her execution day and the only entrance to her room is through him.

She felt no worries that her beloved guards the locked clan princess, it is his job. She actually felt sorry for the woman herself. Public execution. Nobody deserves that.

But then, she wondered. Why, in these nine months, has he been spending a _little_ _too much_ time on that tower with her? Was that necessary?

Maybe. Maybe.

…**0…**

Kurosaki-kun kept himself busy. Especially during nights. Some said that he has been patrolling the forest for armed and hidden bandits. It's true.

Orihime watched him go.

Orihime saw his dark figure disappear onto the woods.

Curious, she followed him. Wanted to see him in action. She wanted to see what made him so famous and strong.

The ground was cold and damp. She had no problem following him undetected, with her footsteps light and breezy. Her breathing ragged and excited. Maybe, he'll see her; ask her what she's doing here following him, then kis-!

Orihime continued walking, never lost sight of his vibrant hair. Even if he's almost seventy meters away from her. Her own clothing taking its toll on her, she felt so cold. She looked over at his retreating form. He looked like he was looking for something.

She continued walking and ignored the coldness all around her. Full curiosity took her. Suddenly, what is-!

_What?!_

She clamped both of her hands to her mouth to keep herself from shouting.

_No!_

…**o0O0o…**

_To be continued_

**Author's Note**

I usually expand on details, but I need to break them.

Thank you for reading.

…

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**Love me or Hate me?**

**Dissonencia.**


	3. Chapter 3

_Disclaimer: _I do not own Bleach. I make no profit.

_Warning: __**Non-linear storytelling and sexuality**_

_Chapter Word Count:1,124_

**Red Thread**

…**o0o…o0o…o0o…**

He learned in his military training the extreme need for _control_.

Usually, the whole idea is reinforced within an _unreasonable_ _context_ just to see how much control one got.

He was a reckless man, far worse when he was growing up in the slums alone. Almost barbaric, an uncontrolled beast with a sword. An unrefined man with a talent for sword let loose in the slum results in severe casualties. Some saw the evil wickedness and sickening result of it and were more than happy to sharpen it, use it for their own good.

That was his world.

But then, _someone_ took him and trained him. And these _experiences_ made him learn discipline.

Discipline. The term similar to control.

Control. The opposite of turmoil.

Turmoil. _The exact thing happening right now_…

Her _shoulders_…

The longer his hands stay on her skin, familiarizing with the smoothness and suppleness of it, the harder it is to pull away.

Time is ticking. He should go.

But no, he probably won't.

…**0**…

_She_ –the so called- last princess of their clan was captured two days ago. By him.

Kurosaki was left with the menial task of looking after her until her execution date.

He complained. Of course he did, why wouldn't he?

_He's a fighter_. He was made for fighting. He was made for giving out hellish fights to his enemies. He's a giver of deep scars. He was so benevolent went it comes to giving wounds. So altruistic in making a special place in hell for his enemies. So playing a babysitter to a fallen class princess is fucking miserable.

But then, that would be a break from his usual bloody lifestyle. Ichigo contemplated the idea of that kind of lifestyle. He never knew since he never experienced but he always wondered. Had he not long for peace? For silence and settlement? For a path not dictated by blood war? Maybe, a true life out there for him? Somewhere, where his sword is not an extension of his arm made for killing?

_Fuck no_. He was born in it. That was simply the hard truth. Born in it, no way out.

He may previously be an _out_ of control beast with a lust for battle. Now he's an _in_ control beast with the same lust for battle. And that same beast knows no peaceful life is out there for him.

Maybe, this nuisance, this annoying task of watching over her would be the closest thing to peace he will ever receive. And maybe, he should enjoy it while it last.

Ichigo came in ready. Nothing to do all day and all night than to watch over her. On his way to her room to check on her, he still had his sword with him. Not exactly sure why. Not wearing his standard uniform, just a simple black gi and kamishino.

She was in a tower, a pagoda her family _once_ owned. His superior thought it was cruel to cage her in place she previously thought home. She had maids of her own, two actually. To make it seem crueler, the room she's staying now was her previous room when she was still the princess.

…**0**…

The painfully slow drop of water, cascading in the lining of her figure seemed to taunt him even more. That formless little thing saturating her entire body –theirs, actually- made everything so fucking sensual. The heat of it, the wetness of it, the smell of it. _Intoxicating_.

He did not stop.

He does not feel like leaving. Or the carnal beast in him doesn't feel like leaving this delicious buffet wrapped around him. Why would he waste such thing? _Such_ luxury?

He pushed further, she moaned again. Wedge between the cold wood at her back and his heated body, she never knew she was _this_ sensitive. Her soft body melted against his. He was so close to her, the heat radiating from his body was just astounding. How her hands gripped him surprised her. She held him like a lifeline and he ravished her like a one-time meal in hell.

The growl on his lips, those half-lidded eyes but bright with need, that heavy, husky sound he was making. She couldn't comprehend it all. It was cognitively bad for her.

Her hands, where are they?

_Ahh_…there, her digits mingled in his fiery mane. The soft lush brushed against her fingers. So soft.

…**0**…

Two month since her capture and nothing changed.

She was still quiet as ever and he would still frown at her.

She stayed seated in her room facing the large balcony, always turned to the sundown and he was there, seated at the corner, quietly watching her.

Same old routine. For four months.

They argued? Not really. Never actually.

Ichigo hated the passiveness in her. Why? He was bright and fiery and he did not like seeing this…this glob of unreceptive mess, this quiet and uncomplaining woman about to be killed. Had she no desire or something?

…0…

What was happening? What is she doing?

She should stop him. It's bad. It's…it is _evil_. It's so morally wrong.

Her lidded eyes fluttered when his mouth sucked a particularly sensitive spot and her hands shot to grasp his mane. To stop him or push him further, she didn't know. He noticed but didn't stop from sucking on her neck. Then his mouth played with her cheeks and he was whispering things.

Things she doesn't comprehend. _What is it_?

He pressed her heaving body harder on the wood, he massaged her hips and the curves of her back while his mouth work on her fiercely on her neck. He was topless, the tight skin on his scarred body sweaty and hot with need against her heated one.

His eyes had this trance-like effect on her. And his breathing, a dull thumping sometimes erratic beating sound of the live organ inside his chest, either way, the sound of it sooths her. The skillful movements of his arms, rough hands and mouth on her skin lulled her into submission.

He stopped for a moment and looked at her. Those eyes pierced her every time. _Why is it?_

He may have already explored her body but they never shared a kiss _using_ lips. He never tried. She never asked. The reason? Maybe because the both of them knew that it is wrong.

He leaned down and she thought he was going to finally kiss her…he didn't. He went straight to lick her throat while his hand ripped her kimono fully and with one swift motion, her skin became her clothes.

He was a _giant_ compared to her tiny size. She was already fully naked and he savored the sight.

This will have to end.

…**o0O0o…**

_To be continued_

Author's note:

_Non-linear and vague in details._

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**Love me or Hate me?**

**Dissonencia.**


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